It’s been a minute. So much has happened since I last wrote regularly that the thought of catching you up invokes a mild sense of panic in my solar plexus. That sense, mild-to-moderate-to-severe, has become an old, familiar companion.
Today I woke at 4 am, my mind working in overdrive trying to solve current issues, replaying distressing conversations and attempting to get ahead of the many variables I’m navigating, as I’ve done for the last 8 weeks…or 8 years. There was a message waiting for me when I looked at my phone from someone checking in and letting me know that she missed my posts and what I had to say. That struck me at my core and pushed me over the edge that I have been teetering on and peering over for several years. It was the impetus for this post.
Writing has been on my mind for….well….I’m not sure it has ever left my consciousness. Writing and sharing have simultaneously felt therapeutic and risky while repeatedly poking a sharp stick into my soft, tender vulnerability. After being threatened about what I was writing, I stopped, for the most part. It activated my safety issues and I reverted to being small and quiet in order to protect myself, or so my inner, traumatized child who tends to run my operating system when I get triggered, tends to do. One of my outdated, but still in effect, self-defense mechanisms.
My intent is to start sharing stories of my life again, hopefully in manageable bites. Maybe what I have to say will resonate with someone. Maybe someone going through something similar will feel a bit more connected and understood. Maybe it will help me to feel less alone in all of the life circumstances I’m navigating. Maybe none of that will be true. Regardless, I intend to find out.